The Adventure
of the Very Loud Living Room(this
is a prequel to the book Blow Out the Moon)

My
name is Libby Koponen and when I was a child, I was a tomboy. Some people
call me Lib ó in the book Iíll be I or me, except
when someone else is talking, because I am telling you this story. Itís
about the most interesting parts of my childhood. If you read it, youíll
figure out what I was like ó Iíll just say now that when my friends and
I got caught doing something a mother usually said:

I thought of this as a compliment.
It wasnít meant to be one, I know, but the word
made me think of the circus and being in the center of all the excitement
and fun.

Thatís how I hope youíll think of this
book.

The story starts in America during summer
vacation. We were playing outside at Kennyís house: Kenny (of course),
my sister Emmy, Peg and Pat, and I. Peg and Pat are twins. I like
to know what people in books look like, but I hate illustrations in
long books ó they never show the people the way I imagine them.

Iíll
describe us all now, so you can picture us in your mind as youíre reading
if you want to.

Iím the main character, so Iíll start
with myself. My hair is as straight as hair can be, and itís cut in
a straight line across my forehead and straight along the sides, like
the Dutch boy on the paint can. In pictures, my eyes look straight at
the camera; theyíre blue. Iím short for my age, but Iím strong. I am
not the kind of child grown-ups ever call cute or just
darling.

Click to see bigger
pictures of
ringmasters in action. How would
you draw one?

To
skip the descriptions, click;
or, if you
printed this out, start reading again at the
next arrow.

Emmy,
my sister, can be that kind of child. She likes to sit on grown-upsí laps,
and she also likes to sleep in the same bed with me and snuggle, which
I hate. She smiles a lot and she fake-cries a lot, too. Her hair curls
and itís blonde. We do not look like sisters.

The twins look even less like sisters
than Emmy and I do ó at least our eyes are the same color. Patís eyes
are dark brown and her eyelashes are long and shiny and black, like
her hair; she kind of peeks through them when she looks at people. Her
face always looks clean, even when weíve been playing outside all day
ó not like ours (I once heard my mother say, sighing, to another mother,
My children all have that pinky-white skin that looks dirty so
quickly). Patís hair never looks messy ó no matter what we do,
it stays shining and in place.

Patís good at making things and (although
usually sheís sensible), she makes me laugh sometimes. When Emmy and
I get in a fight Pat sings: Sisterly love, sisterly love.
If any of the rest of us are fighting, she sings, Neighborly love,
neighborly love. Pat and Kenny are in the same class at school.

Peg is nothing like Pat. Pegís a tomboy
(Patís kind of girlish and Kenny once said Patís the quiet type
at school ). Pegís skinny and fast and her hair is almost as short
as a boyís; it curls all over the place.

Peg is good at sports and is the best
coordinated of all of us. She loves their dog, Duke. Grown-ups say that
Pat is going to be beautiful when she grows up; they never say that
about Peg.

Kenny is skinny, but strong ó not as
strong as I am, but strong. He hates to sit still and he laughs and
shouts a lot ó his front teeth are a little too big; but when he smiles,
you notice his eyes, which are blue, more than his teeth and he has
one dimple (in his chin). He tries to be funny too much, though.

Kenny, Peg, and Pat are all taller than
I am, but Iím the strongest of all of us ó and of everyone in my class
at school, too; everyone Iíve wrestled, that is.

Anyway
we were at Kennyís, playing outside. We went in to get some Kool-aid;
Mrs.Paley wasnít home, which was why we were playing over there, instead
of at our house, which has a better yard.

Sheís hidden the Kool-aid in a
new place, Kenny said, but donít worry, I know where it
is.

He got up on the kitchen counter and
told us to hand him the giant Saltine tin; he said it would be solid
enough to stand on if two people held it.

I will, Peg said.

Hold it the tall way. And hold
it TIGHT. Lib, help her, he said.

So Peg held one side and I held the
other and he got up on it and gripped a shelf; with the other hand he
felt along the top of the cupboard.

Peg caught it; I held onto the Saltine
tin with both hands, and Kenny spread out his arms, screamed
Geronomo!ó he likes screaming ó and jumped.

He landed with a huge thud. Peg handed
the Kool-aid to Pat.

Pat is always the one who makes the
Kool-aid. Pat is kind of plump, though when we weigh ourselves, she
always says she has big bones. Itís true that her hands are big.

Sheís hidden the sugar, too,
Pat said. At least, itís not where it was last time.

So we all looked for it while Pat got
out the big glass pitcher and the other things she needed and finally
Emmy ó sheís really good at finding things ó pulled a new five pound
bag out from under the sink. She heaved it up onto the table and we
all looked at it.

Maybe she wonít notice,
I said.

She always notices ó but if we
cut it with scissors and then are careful not to spill it all over the
floor, she wonít really mind, Kenny said, finally.

Iíll do everything in the sink,
Pat said. That way, we can just rinse any mess down the drain.

If
you changed your mind and DO want to read the descriptions, click
-- or, if you printed this out, go back to the last arrow.

Kenny.

She
poured the Kool-aid into the pitcher and started measuring the sugar while
we all stood around waiting and watching. Then Kenny got out the ice and
threw it at us ó Kenny always likes to be DOING something; it almost seems
as if he doesnít care what, as long as heís moving. He tried to drop some
ice down my neck but I grabbed it away and kicked it across the floor.
Kenny and Peg both ran after it and we all started kicking it as though
we were playing soccer. Pat went on stirring the Kool-aid. Then Kenny
held a whole tray of ice over the pitcher.

No, donít! Pat said, but
too late ó he dumped it all in at once and a lot of Kool-aid splashed
out. Kenny! Pat said. She doesnít like him as much as Peg
and I do.

Itís only a few drops, he
said. We can always make more.

Pat shook her head and her hair moved
neatly, all in one piece. Her hair is always shining and perfectly neat;
even her PART is always straight. Then she carried the Kool-aid to the
table, and we arranged the glasses around it in a circle the way they
are on TV ó the pitcher was already all foggy.

Then, finally, we held out our glasses
and carefully, without spilling one drop (except at the very beginning
when some ice plopped out), Pat poured Kool-aid into them. It was Wild
Cherry, our favorite; I like all the Kool-aid flavors except Lime, but
Wild Cherry is the best.

Then we went into the living-room and
Kenny started banging on the piano ó not playing, just banging with
his fists on the black and white notes at the same time. Peg did it,
too ó he was banging on the really low notes and she was banging on
the really high notes.

Iíve got a great idea! I
said. Letís turn on everything in the house that can make noise,
and scream our loudest, and see HOW MUCH noise we can make.

Sometimes people argue with my ideas,
but everyone could see right away that this was a really good one. Emmy
screamed:
Yes, yes! Do it, do it!
Kenny ran to the TV and turned it on full volume, and Peg yelled,
The radio and Jillís record player!
(Jill is Kennyís teenage sister.)
The vacuum cleaner! Pat said. Thatís REALLY loud.
Where is it?

Wait! I said, and turned
off the TV. Letís not spoil it by turning things on one by one
ó letís get all the stuff first. Then weíll turn it on and start screaming
and yelling and jumping up and down all at once. That way, weíll get
the full effect.

But what else can we get?
Peg said.

The lawn mower. Pat thought
of that; she has pretty good ideas sometimes.

Perfect! I said. And
we can bang pots and pans and their lids together.

Kenny didnít want to go get the lawnmower
(he said it was all the way in the garage), and Pat and
I were trying to convince him that we really needed it when we heard
our bell ringing. Our parents have different ways of calling us: Peg
and Patís bang a triangle like the ones they clang out West on ranches
when they yell Chow time! Kennyís mother blows a whistle,
and our parents ring a bell. They all have the same rule: when we hear
it, we have to come right home ó no matter what weíre doing. If we donít,
we have to stay in our own yard all the next day.

Oh, no, I said. What
TERRIBLE timing.

Kenny didnít look sad at all and I could
tell just what he was thinking.

You still have to get the lawnmower,
I said.

Have to? he said, with a
little smile.

It took awhile to settle this (Iím not
going to put in what we say in all our little arguments ó that would
take too long and be too boring); Iíll just say that finally he DID
agree to get it.

And youíll wait for us? You wonít
start until we get back? I said.

Weíll do it when we have all the
stuff AND when you come back, Kenny said.

But that wonít be the same!
Emmy said.

No, it wonít, I said. And
it was my idea ó you canít do it without me.

The bell rang again; we had to leave.
Pat said they WOULD wait and as we left, I heard her arguing and Kenny
saying,

Come on, come on, letís get on
with the game.

Kenny always says this ó he said it
the time I slit my knee open playing running bases (the cut was so big
that I had to go to the hospital for stitches). First Kenny said, without
even looking at the cut, Itís only a scratch, come on, Lib, get
on with the game. So I did, and then he looked and when he saw
all the blood he screamed for his mother.

When we got home, our mother was waiting
for the guests: an English boy and his mother who were coming over for
tea. We always have to play with our parents guestsí children, even
if we donít know them or like them. Weíd never met this boy before ó
he and his parents were from England. His father had been transferred
from the London office of J. Walter Thompson ó thatís the company my
father works for.

Everything was all set up on the living-room
table: a pewter tray with a round pewter tea pot and cream pitcher,
a fat silver sugar bowl filled with sugar lumps ó you take them out
with silver tongs. There were two plates of cookies (three different
kinds: chocolate fingers, ginger snaps, and oatmeal), and one plate
of little sandwiches cut into triangles. We washed and she inspected
us and then she told us how many cookies we could each have (three)
and reminded us to pass things to the guests first. One good thing about
our mother is that she never corrects our manners in front of other
people. I wish everyoneís mother would do this, I hate it when parents
say things like What do you say? or scold their children
in front of you.

Can I have one now? Emmy
said. She made a cute face but my mother still said no (I knew she would).

How many sandwiches? I said.

You can try one of each kind,
but I donít think youíll like them, she said. The brown
ones are watercress and the white ones are shrimp.

Then the doorbell rang and we all (
Emmy, and our little sister, Bubby, and our little brother, Willy, and
I) ran to the front door. I got there first. The mothers introduced
themselves and said ladylike things like, Please call me Isobel,
and my mother said to call her Sally.

Then Mrs.Grant said,

And this is my son Neil.

My mother said hello, and he did, and
then she put her arm around my shoulders and said,

This is my oldest daughter, Elizabeth.
I hate the name Elizabeth and she knows it ó I just gave her one look
and she said, But we always call her Libby.

She squeezed my shoulders and sort of
pushed me towards them; I knew she wanted me to say hello politely so
I did. Emmy did, too, but Bubby just stood behind my mother and so did
our little brother. Then we all sat down and the mothers talked.

We looked at Neil and he looked at us.
Everything about him was light. His hair was yellow-white ó more white
than yellow ó and his skin was pink and white, and his eyes were light
blue and the whites were very white. He had bangs, which most boys donít.
Kenny and most of the boys in my class have crewcuts. He ate slowly
and carefully, wiping his mouth after every bite. He sat up very straight
ó even his clothes were very straight ó and he didnít spill anything,
even his tea. He seemed like a real goody-goody.

The mothers talked about London and
my mother asked a lot of questions about day schools for girls
and Mrs. Grant answered and Mrs. Grant asked questions about the
free schools here and my mother answered; I didnít really listen
until Mrs.Grant said,
What is peanut butter?
Iíd never met a mother who didnít know that.

Later they talked about silver ó that
was interesting when my mother told about Paul Revere (the one in the
Revolution) and when that was over I stopped listening and had more
tea. For my second cup, she only put a few drops of tea ó the rest was
milk. I added three lumps of sugar and stirred it. Youíd think that
would be good ó I thought it would taste like a vanilla milkshake ó
but sugar milk is a terrible combination, especially at the bottom of
the cup. Iíd already had my three cookies, so I asked if I could be
excused and she said Emmy and I could take Neil upstairs. That really
meant that we could only go if we brought him with us.

On the way up, I said,

Itís lucky that you or your mother
didnít pour the tea.

Why?

Because youíre English and weíre
American. If youíd given me a cup of tea, Iíd have had to dump it out
ó in honor of the Boston Tea Party.

I was about to tell him what the Boston
Tea Party was when he said:

Rubbish.

I was too surprised to say anything.
Then he said:

My mother has given tea to lots
of Americans before and THEY never poured it on the floor.

Well, maybe other people donít
do it but itís what I would do if an English person offered ME tea,
I said.

Pouring the tea on the floor WOULD be
like the Boston Tea Party. In case you havenít heard of it: In Boston,
at the beginning of the Revolution, a crowd of grown-ups disguised as
Indians sneaked onto an English ship and dumped all the tea into the
Boston harbor. I think itís neat that our country had such a fun start
ó grown-ups dressing up like Indians and throwing things overboard!
And I like the name The Boston Tea Party, too. I didnít say any of this
to Neil, though.

We brought him into our room and he
stood in the middle of it, with his back very straight, turning his
chin around and looking at everything coolly.

This is our room, Emmy said
and brought him one of her horses.

This is my best gun, I said.
I buckled on the holster and drew, fast. Itís a six-shooter,
I said, and stuck it back in the holster. It can shoot more than
six caps at a time, though.

Sometimes we put caps on a rock
and smash them with another rock, Emmy said. It makes a
bigger noise.

Then I remembered.

Emmy! Making the noise!

Emmy and I looked at each other, and
then we looked at Neil ó we knew we wouldnít be allowed to go without
him.

Would you like to come with us
to do something really fun? I said.

What? he said.

I told him ó halfway through, he smiled
and when he smiled he didnít look like such a goody-goody; it was kind
of a mischievous smile. And at the end, he said:

That DOES sound fun.

Good. Letís go! I said.

I tugged my holster around my hips the
way the cowboys do when they swagger out the saloon doors into the street
and led the way downstairs.

The two mothers were still just sitting
on the couch, talking. Thatís all my mother ever does when her friends
come over ó when I ask her what they talk about, she says
Different things.
Itís true that whenever I listen theyíre talking about something different.

I asked if we could go to Kennyís to
finish something and she and Mrs. Grant looked at each other. I wondered
if they were about to use the secret code or signals or whatever it
is that ladies use to tell each other things privately. I know they
have one.

I figured that out once when I was
at a friendís house and couldnít get out of my snowsuit in time to go
to the bathroom. I hope you donít think thatís gross, it was when I
was almost a baby, but, I admit, too old to be wetting my pants. Luckily,
you couldnít see the wet pants through the snowsuit. I called my mother
and asked her to come get me. The girl and her mother kept asking me
to stay until the end of the day and each time, I said: No, I
want to go home. When my mother got there, she and the girlís
mother stood at the front door, talking. I stood right next to them
the whole time and I listened to every word my mother said (I had asked
her on the phone not to tell about the wet pants) and she didnít say
anything about it, but at the end, the other mother said,
So THATíS what it was!
So I knew my mother had told her but Iíd heard every word she said and
I didnít know how she told her ó thatís what I mean by a secret
way of talking.

I don't know if my mother and Mrs.Grant
used one. They looked at each other. Then my mother said that it was
on the same side of the street and that Kenny was a nice boy.
Mrs.Grant said something I didnít hear, and then our mother said that
we could stay for half an hour:
Iíll ring the bell when the half hour is up, she said.

Mrs.Grant said,
Have fun, darling.

We ran up to Kennyís. Peg was riding
on Kennyís back, and Pat was running beside them, tossing her headó
they were playing cowboys, as well as they could without us. (When we
play that, Pat and Kenny are the horses, since theyíre the biggest,
and Peg and I are Spin and Jess, the two bachelor cowboys. Emmy is usually
a little colt.)

Peg jumped off Kennyís back and they
ran up to us; everyone stared at Neil.

I said that he was English and had just
moved into the Osborneís house.

And this is The Gang, I
said.

What is The Gang? Neil said
ó not suspiciously, just kind of eagerly, as though he thought it was
going to be exciting. Is it a club?

Kind of, I said.

What is it for? What do you do?

We all looked at each other and no one
said anything. I thought saying We play would be disappointing,
though that IS what we usually do. The Gang isnít really for anything:
weíve just known each other since we were little and weíre always together,
except at school. Finally, I said:

We have adventures.

Pat laughed.

And today is the Adventure of
the Very Loud Living-Room, she said.

Did you wait for us?

Yes, we made him, and everythingís
all ready, Pat said. We found everything we talked about,
and then we thought of more.

We ran in. The lawn mower was in the
middle of the room, and Jillís record player and the radio from the
kitchen were on top of a small table. The lamp that usually is there
was on the floor, unplugged. The pots and pans and lids were in a tidy
little pile on the couch; as Pat said, there were two for everyone,
if one person played the piano instead of banging pots. The blender
was on the piano stool.

Neil stood very still in the middle
of the room, and then he turned around slowly, smiling at everything.

This is GREAT, he said.

Wait until you hear it,
Kenny said.

Letís turn all the things on and
start screaming at EXACTLY the same time, I said. Kenny,
you do the TV, and Pat, the record player, and Peg the radio ó who knows
how to work the lawn mower?

I do, Neil said. Iíll
do that.

Good. And Emmy can do the blender
and Iíll do the vacuum cleaner ó we can all grab pots and lids when
everything is on. Take your places!

Everyone ran to the things they were
supposed to turn on.

Iíll wait until everyoneís hand
is on the switch, then Iíll count, I said. Ready?

Everyone nodded.

One, two, three, GO!

Everything CRASHED on at top volume:
the lawn mower, the TV, the radio, the record player, the blender, the
vacuum cleaner, but by the FAR the loudest noise was all of us screaming.
We didnít scream words, we just yelled:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
as loudly as we could and that was pretty loud.

Kenny and Peg pounded the piano with
their fists, jumping up and down as they banged.

Emmy and Pat and Neil and I hit pots
and pans together as hard as we could, screaming and jumping up and
down the whole time.

Our mouths were open as wide as they
could go, and everyoneís faces turned red, even Patís. I donít know
when Iíve had so much fun ó sometimes, I had to stop screaming to laugh.

Peg and Kenny looked especially funny,
jumping up and down at the piano. Kenny was wiggling his bottom in time
to the music and shaking his head like a beatnik drum player.

Then I saw Mrs.Paley in the doorway.
She was holding a pocketbook and staring at all of us as if she wasnít
sure who we were. Suddenly she jumped into the room, YANKED Kenny away
from the piano, and shouted at him. He stopped screaming, of course;
we all did. I turned off the vacuum and Pat got the radio and the record
player. Emmy and Peg put their pots back on the couch. Neil just stood
there, holding his ó he looked really scared.

Our mother never shouts and his mother
didnít seem like that type, either; I didnít blame Neil for being scared
ó the first few times I saw Mrs. Paley having one of these fits, I was.

Kenneth! What the ___ are you
doing? Turn that thing off! she yelled. Kenny ran over to the
lawnmower but he didnít know what to do, I could tell. NOW!
she yelled and then she jabbed Kenny in the back and he bent over, but
the lawnmower stayed on and Mrs.Paley yelled, Hurry up!

Then, like a bugle boy dashing into
the middle of a battle to help a wounded soldier, Neil darted in (I
think that was brave of him) and pulled a long string. The lawnmower
sputtered and gurgled off.

Mrs.Paley whirled around. Whoís
he? she yelled, waving her long arms ó Neil jumped away from her
and landed on the lamp, which broke noisily. (First there was a kind
of high crack, and then smaller crunches.)

This is the limit! I donít even
know him and heís smashing my furniture! And what is the lawnmower
doing in the living-room? Look at those spots!

We looked ó there was a trail of black
splotches, sort of like the ones on the plastic sheet Jill uses to teach
herself dance steps, going from the door to the lawnmower.

She went on screaming. I remember: My
rug! Did any of you ever think about that? and Your mother
doesnít let everyone play inside at her house! Why donít you go wreck
everything there? and, I suppose you were the ringleader,
Libby?

None of us said anything. At the end,
she said she was going upstairs and when she came back down, she wanted
everything back in its place and all of us out of the house:
Except you, Kenneth.
Iíd HATE it if my father (who does shout at us sometimes) yelled at
me in front of anyone!

But Kenny didnít seem to mind; as we
left (we didnít talk at all while we put stuff away), he whispered to
Neil: Donít worry, I can handle her.

When we were out of the Paleysí yard,
Neil said eagerly:
What will happen now?

Oh, nothing, I said.

Probably nothing,
Pat said. Sometimes she does call our mothers. I think we should
go home and tell first, just in case.

So we did. When we went in, the two
mothers were still sitting in the same places, still talking.

Youíre back early, my mother
said. What happened? She knew nothing good had, I could
tell.

We were doing something inside
at Kennyís and some oil from the lawnmower spilled on the living-room
rug. Also a lamp got broken, I said.

Who broke the lamp? she
said.

It was an accident, I said.

I did, Neil said at the
same time.

Neilís mother, who had been drinking
tea and staring out the window, kind of choked into her cup. But all
she said was,

Thatís not like you, Neil.

Then she looked at me, probably thinking
what most mothers think: that Iím a bad influence.

My mother asked how oil from the lawnmower
got on the rug, and I said I didnít know (well, I didnít: I wasnít there
when they brought it in). My mother sighed, and said (to Mrs.Grant):

I hate to do it, but I think Iíll
have to call Ruth Paley and assess the damage.

I think they talked in the secret lady
way after that; I didnít understand what they were saying ó it was about
Mrs.Paley, I think. When theyíd finished, my mother said:

And you children have been very
naughty. Iím going to give you a punishment.

(This is something she hardly ever does
ó all the kids from school who have come over say they wish my mother
were our teacher, because sheíd always be saying: Iíll give you
one more chance.)

What? I said. I hate waiting
for punishments.

Iíll think about it, she
said. Part of it will be apologizing to Mrs. Paley.

You mean go up there and say weíre
sorry? I did not want to go up there. But I didnít try to look
cute ó I never do ó I just said: Couldnít we write a letter and
all three sign it?

Our mother looked at me, trying to decide;
then Emmy said,

Iím scared to go there.

Only she didnít pronounce the r ó in
front of other people she says her rís like wís but never when itís
just her and me, she knows I canít stand it. Then she clasped her hands
together, like the idiot on the cover of Prayers for Boys and Girls
(a terrible book our grandmother gave us) ó and looked up at my mother.
My mother sort of sighed and looked as though she might say yes after
all.

If we wrote a letter, you could
both read it before we sent it, Neil said.

So can we? I said.

The two mothers looked at each other.

Well, yes, I suppose so,
our mother said.

Writing the letter was kind of fun.
Emmy drew a picture of the lamp shattering under a foot (and then she
wrote BAD in big letters at the top). Neil had good handwriting and
a lot of good ideas. He thought of beginning the letter with, Dear
Madam and he also thought of putting, We humbly beg your
forgiveness. He wanted us to sign it Your humble servants,
but I explained that in America, we donít believe in servants (itís
one of the things the Revolution was fought for, in a way), so we signed
it plain From, and then our full names.

When it was time to go home, Neil said:

Will you have another adventure
tomorrow? Can I be in it?

So it really WAS an adventure ó at least,
to him.

Another
picture of Kenny.
Do you like having the pictures
of everyone or not? I would really
like to know! If you really like
having them OR really DON'T
like having them, please email me

The
published book ismore about the boarding school in England. You can get it
at the library, invite me to come to your school (my favorite!), order
it from amazon,
or buy it in bookstores. If you don't see it in a bookstore, please ask them
to get it! If you DO see it, PLEASE TURN IT FACE OUT SO OTHER PEOPLE WILL
SEE IT AND BUY IT. Thank you.